


Chasing Tails

by TwistedNym



Series: Some of us die young [1]
Category: Red Queen - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 22:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14067441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedNym/pseuds/TwistedNym
Summary: "We never really introduced us to each other."Thomas rolls his eyes. "Dude, the counselor says my name five time a session to curse my existence.. And everyone knows who you are. Your family is the filthy rich top. You're like royalty."





	Chasing Tails

"I have nothing to say about my family." That's all boy in the blue hoodie mutters, shifting uncomfortably. He doesn't want to be here.

_Who does?_ Thomas thinks, scratching his chin. If it was up to him he would spend the evening at home, curled up on a couch, eating pizza and watching something trashy on the old TV. That is a lazy and appropriate activity for someone like him.

Just ignore the outside world.

But he can't do that. And it's not only because he is obligated to stay.

It is because he doesn't have a couch and a TV anymore.

His old life. With a place to stay. Gone. Like he was gone the night he took his bags.

What a joke.

"I am sure there would be something." The counselor doesn't let it stand. "How does this situation make you feel?"

He's very contained, Thomas has to give him that. He remembers his first interrogation by that clipboard swinging terrier.

Thomas just wanted to bolt. He didn't, of course, not that evening, but the wish never left.

"Not comfortable, I suppose." The boy says irritated.

Yeah, who wouldn't be irritated at a question like this?

Thomas watches through a strand of his hair, arms crossed. This group is a joke. But everyone is aware of that. Even the counselor.

Which is why Thomas wonders why he finds himself suddenly interested.

Maybe it's just the sense of the new. He knows all the other faces on the metal chairs.  
Maybe it's just because most of the group are girls. And more importantly, elite.

Fancy drivers, nice tech, and pretty clothes. Thomas felt deranged the moment he stepped in. But he couldn't swap and his defiance only brought more hours to spend in this hell.

Because it is. Hell. At its finest. Even the demons are here. Though they are awfully quiet on their chairs. And they are all watching the newbie. What was his name again? Oh yeah, Maven.

"Do you want to say more about your family?"

_Better check the list._ Thomas thinks. He doesn't say it. He wants to leave limbo someday soon. He leans back, arms behind his head in careless nonchalance. In truth, it's all just show.

"No."

"Not about your mother?" the counselor asks again.

The boy's blue eyes are narrowed. He's so cold if Thomas attempted to lick his skin he'd get his tongue stuck. Like those lamppost things. Oh, whatever. It sounded better the first moment he thought it than it does now. Licking strangers is out of the question. Even if they have his sympathy and look decent enough." My mother has nothing to do with this."

"His moms the boss of a company now, isn't she?" someone close to Thomas asks, leaning together. He doesn't make it an effort to turn around and see who said it. "Merandus? Calore?"

That's why they are all quiet. He is one of them. Big fucking chance. Rich silver folk. Thomas should have guessed. His clothes are simple but that headphones look more expensive than everything he owns.

Maven, Maven, Thomas dimly remembers that name.

That pretty boy is the son of Elara Merandus. He is the filthy rich pampered prince of the whole lot.

Great. Any sympathy is numbed down to a very tiny degree.

"No interruptions." Counselor Arven is a bony, uninterested asshole, but sometimes Thomas is reminded he is the only adult in the room.

"I don't have anything to say anymore." Maven has his hands in his pockets but Thomas is pretty sure if he saw them, they'd be tightly curled fists.

The room is dead quiet. The counselor's pencil makes uncomfortable scratching sounds on the paper. Stupid clipboard, Thomas thinks. Who uses them anyway except for situations like this?

The round continues. Thomas blends most of it out. It's always the same anyway. Questions about parents. Blame on other people. None of the ever would really change. This was all just a farce to get through.

He catches himself looking at Maven. Studying the pale face, dark hair. Lashes dark over pretty blue eyes. That cold interior is still freezing, but it's very clear for Thomas all of this is the show. There's crippling and suffocating anxiety, and if there was no wall to protect, all would tumble down. Who knew he'd be good at studying other people once. But then again...

_He knows it because it's pretty much the same with him._

Maven notices him glaring and frowns. Thomas just blows a strand of his hair out of his face and smiles. A tiny, cocky smirk.

There's nothing real about that smile. But since no one asks, he won't tell them.

"Thomas." The counselor says. Even he hates his guts and makes sure his name is drawn out like a curse.

_Well, you too, dude,_ Thomas thinks. As if he had asked to stay. As if he didn't have wished to play it cool over at the other group, with people who didn't think he was an insect. Sometimes he'd even rather go to jail.

Court rules are court rules and now he has to endure. Fuck judges. And deals. It was only a window and a very unenthusiastically thrown brick.

_Ugh._

"Yeah?" Thomas just asks, leaning forward.

"Your turn."

The counselor grabs the clipboard so hard it's as if his life force is bound to it. Maybe he is a soulless automaton and to pull the plug you have to separate him from his memory chip.

"Everyone knows I just did it cause I was bored. I don't hate my life. I don't hate myself. I'm all cool and just want to leave." Lie after lie, every week. Thomas has stopped trying to appease. He is tired of it by now. "I mean this is all just some bureaucratic bullshit, we know it. Put one of the poor boys into a group of filthy rich. See how bad he does? Did we try to integrate him? Diversity and all. But he won't learn."

"Not that again." Someone mutters.

"This is discrimination." Thomas makes a fist and smashes it into his palm to give his words the flair of resistance. Not so bad. Though he a little tired of the gimmick. He continues cause he knows it will get everyone angry. And if they are, maybe the session ends sooner. Works sometimes. No one ever expects a political discussion with someone who looks like he can barely read. It doesn't matter he just repeats the words. They aren't his.  
"You silver assholes just won't let me be. It's almost like I am a conscripted soldier in a war. Well, guess what I don't wanna march. I just wanna go."

"That language won't get you anywhere." The counselor disapproves.

Everyone is aware of the snorting sound.  
A collective sigh goes through the round.  
They hate him.  
He tires them.  
But no one is taking the bait this time.

_I need a new strategy for next week,_ Thomas notes.

Maven is not frowning anymore. But he still watches closely. Thomas is almost flattered.

After the session is over and clipboard automaton counselor pretends they don't exist anymore, Thomas makes it his weekly duty to steal all the food he can.

Nobody is gonna miss it, are they? Well if he has to be here the least they can do is fill his stomach.

The looks are the same. He's ridiculous to them. Stuffing a whole fancy pastry in his mouth he turns around, chewing for everyone to see. A girl close by is shuddering in disgust. He loves it. Because if you don't have anything left you might as well collect hate and disgust.  
Sometimes Thomas thinks that is his sole purpose in life.

After the plastic bag is filled, it gets stuffed in his old messenger bag. He decides it was fun, but hey, every party has to end somehow.

Down the fancy stone steps, away from the monstrous architectural disaster of the center. Away from the meticulous cut grass and trees. Away from glass that reflects fake care.

Cars are parking, shining monochrome. Drivers on the pedal, probably.

He's surprised to see the red old van in the middle of them all. It looks grotesque and deranged, like spit on a polished marble floor.

Usually, no one is really inquired to pick him up. But it suits him just fine. Something about today and that pampered prince won't leave him alone. He's afraid he'll get run over by the bus if he walks.

That would fit him right. Thoughts everywhere they do not belong.

Farley is waiting patiently, eagle eyes on the steering wheel. She isn't the type for distractions. He loves that about her. Her _no bullshit_ policy.

He doesn't complain she's here. He doesn't ask why she came.  
He just accepts that she is seeing him.  
And that some part of her cares enough to look after him, make him crash on her couch on these days.

And maybe he just wants to avoid thinking she only came to care because she hates Silver more than he ever did.

"How was counseling?" She asks. She doesn't let go of the steering wheel, even though a strand of blond hair falls right into her eyes.

"A shitshow. As always." He shrugs, leaning back into the worn down leather seat, inhaling.  
The car smells like fast food, probably thanks to Shade. It smells faintly of weed. Again, thanks, Shade. These two smells are probably linked. Shade Barrow has the stoner appetite of thirty men. Thomas doesn't mind that. In fact, he likes the smell, because he likes Shade. Shade always looks after everyone. He ought to relax from time to time. In fact, it's the only time Thomas can grip him. Because Shade never stays in the same place long.

The car is clean and he knows that's because Farley made sure it is. There is a sticker, and of course, it's some political slur.

He can almost see Farley and Shade together, arguing and fighting for a right they'll never accomplish.

Farley is watching a big car pull in mercilessly in front of them. Cutting them off.

Thomas follows her eyes. It's very fancy, ought to give them that. Clean and way too big for one person claiming the seat. But of course, that's what happens. A boy in a blue hoodie gets in, hunched and clearly still not comfortable. Farley wrinkles her nose, only slightly, but she sure as hell is disgusted. Thomas can empathize.

"You hungry?" he asks her. "Stole food again."

"No." She shakes her head, eyes not leaving the impressive car, blue and white, in front of them. "I lost my appetite."

She pulls out with a speed that makes Thomas regret not to have put on a safety belt. Farley doesn't acknowledge the honking and the yelling. Thomas waves with as much bravado as he can muster.

Someone flips him off. He chuckles and leans back again. Maybe the evening at Farley's place won't be so bad. Maybe Thomas can find out why he is still thinking about Maven. Wondering what he did to deserve this. All of it.

This time, Thomas stays for three days on Farley's couch. It is not like the couch is very comfortable. His legs are too long and he only fits curled up tightly. His neck always hurts in the morning and he feels stiff. It's not about physical comfort. The couch is close to the kitchen. In the morning he can hear the coffee machine, roaring and boil as it fights to fulfill its task. Dishes and tableware are clinking and cupboards rummaged. It reminds Thomas of home, of mornings when he woke up too early and could hear his mother. If Farley knew he'd just compared her to a mother. Huh.

It's always loud and busy at Farley's. There are always one or two familiar faces. Some people seem to be glued to the interior. In this buzzing moments, Thomas just sits still and watches. They discuss and they argue, they get loud sometimes. But in the end, no one leaves angry. Sure, it's all just hypothetical hush hush. Most of the people that sit here, talking about oppression and that life is not fair (boho, yeah, life sucks) are young, and they have no clue about the real world. Idealistic. Thomas doesn't discuss anything with them anymore. He was on more than one protest, but what did it get him?

He wishes he could believe in what they say. In the end, he doesn't. He is too bitter and self-conscious. He is a coward anyway. He couldn't do anything to support them.

Shade keeps off the radar and Thomas is sure he missed him for the next few days. He doesn't go to the Barrow house. They treat him nice and all. But in the end, it's the same reason he doesn't stay with Farley for longer than a few days, a week at best. No one can catch him ever again. And that's for the best because sometimes staying is hard and hurts. And company can be a burden.

He doesn't even think of Maven. Which is good, he decides.

The next week the circle is gone and replaced by enormous boxes and a beamer.

Education, yeah, two hours of some propaganda. For the silvers, it is like an advertisement he supposes but for him, it's just a reminder he doesn't belong.

When he sees a hunched over shadow approach he smiles. The pampered prince wears blue again, though it's not very visible in the darkness. There's only one chair left. It's next to him. He tells himself it won't matter anyway. Why not go through with it?

* * *

Maven wouldn't have acknowledged it but he too paid attention to the way Thomas was dressed, in jeans with rips and ripples along his knees and legs, half fashionable and half destroyed and old. He also wears a black hoodie two numbers too big despite the summer heat outside.  
The hoodie once must have said 'meat is murder' now it only exclaims 'meat is mu' and someone has put a sticker on a milk carton on it that shows a smiling cow.

It could almost be endearing if Thomas didn't look like he had spent the night in a gutter. His hair is slightly wet, curling on the hollow crack of his neck. It's hastily brushed with his fingers, falling into his brow.

Maybe that is part of the reason no one wants to sit next to him.

Maven takes a sniff, very cautious as he sits next to him. He smells of sweat but nothing so bad one could claim Thomas reeks.

Thomas notices his wrinkled nose. He smiles that tiny smirk that looks like a crack in a mirror. Very unnerving.

Maven pretends not to notice, hands in his pockets, turning away.

He can't pretend for long. The music is too loud and noisy, no one is paying any attention. Even the counselor sits on his chair in the back of the room. A cell phone is illuminating his face. Maven is fairly sure he tells his mother every detail. They have history and the counselor is still in contact with her. His palms are sweaty and he feels so uncomfortable he wants to hide under the chair.

And then he sees Thomas is still staring and something in him snaps.

"Why are you still looking at me?" he hisses under his breath.

Thomas is not impressed. He shrugs. "I am bored and you are cute."

That's something he hasn't anticipated. He's glad in the darkness no one can notice the blush creeping up his neck.

"Very funny." He says, leaning away.

Thomas is still glaring without the attempt to cover it up.

"Yeah no, I mean it." He says. " You up to some fun? We could ditch these losers."

Maven turns away and doesn't look at him anymore.

* * *

The third week is back to the group of chairs, a circle in hell. Thomas is early and to his surprise, he isn't the only one.

Maven looks pale and not very good. He looks like a monster from his nightmares is gnawing at his toes right this moment. He looks like, frankly put, shit.

Thomas has one or two punchlines prepared but he forgets them the moment he sees the dark circles under Maven's eyes.

Instead, he just sits down in the chair next to Maven and waits. The other boy has a book on his lap and doesn't look up. Thomas coughs and waits. He waits in vain.

Somewhere along the lines, the silence drags on and Thomas starts to fidget on his chair.

When Maven isn't even responding to that, he decides to take a shot.

"Just have four more rounds to go until I am free." He leans back and tries to be casual.

"How very fortunate for you."

"Yeah." He doesn't know why he tries to talk that stiff little prince into a good and lasting conversation. He's like all the others. He probably deserves more than this shitshow of a therapy round and is only here because his family bought a way out.

Silvers never get what they deserve. But then again that boy really doesn't look like he hurt someone.

"What are you in for?"

Maven looks up now. "That should be none of your interest."

Thomas makes a wet fart sound. Childish? Yes. Effective to piss people off? Very much so.

Maven turns away again, stuffing the book away. Oh, good, I have his attention, Thomas thinks, but then Maven pulls out a phone. He is rather staring at his phone than wasting a second glance at him. Ridiculous. Thomas has never even had a proper cell phone, but he knows that one ought to cost some pretty money.

"Pull that stick out of your ass. I am just trying to be nice."

"You are doing a rather poor impression."

Thomas rolls his eyes. He isn't really annoyed. He kind of understands the reservation. "Dude, you are not helping your case."

"I have no intention to talk to you."

Look at you, all judgmental, he thinks, maybe you are really not that different from all the other snobs.

_Farley would be proud I embraced the agenda._

It's almost a challenge. And Thomas told Maven the truth. He is bored. And he finds Maven decent looking. All right, all right, maybe he finds him downright cute, like, wanting to tuck someone in a blanket and tell them a story to let them fall asleep cute. Not that it would change anything about the fact they are miles from each other and this is just some fling, something to unnerve and something to waste time on.

"We'll see about that," Thomas promises.

Maven huffs. Indifferent.

Thomas smiles.

Farley hasn't picked him up anymore, so she must be pretty busy. It's not like he is lost without her.

He sits on a bench in the park, close to the center. It's the tidy part of town. Not as fancy as up the hills but not as bad as the Stilts.

Thomas has spent his whole youth in the Stilts. He doesn't miss it. Sometimes he misses his family. But he never pushes or gives in that wish.

Some things are better left untouched.

* * *

The next week he is not in the mood to mess around. Which is a first? There has been a fair share of bad circumstances. Thomas hasn't eaten in a day and he feels dirty, clogged in sweat and mud. Sitting down next to Maven, he crosses his arms and waits for the time to pass.

There is a hole in his shirt and an even bigger one in his stomach. It's making him foul.

The pencil moves slowly over the piece of paper. The nothingness of the words disappears. Instead, lines of branches and leaves circle over the edge.

Why a tree? Why not? Things don't always need to make a ton of sense. Sometimes they are just pretty.

When Thomas looks up from the sketch he finds two blue eyes watching him.

"Not half bad, is it?" He exclaims with as much pride as he can muster.

The answer is surprising him. It's honest and small. "It isn't."

Filling the leaves and flowers crawling over the paper, he knows that there is still a set of eyes watching. Words wash over them, erased and blocked as easily as the tree swallows the paper.

No one expects them to talk. Or to listen, for that matter.

"I smashed a window," Thomas says. "Was a fancy store up at the hills. Trashed some stuff. I just got off easily because they wanted to hold the quote with this rehabilitation shit."

"I didn't ask." Maven replies, seemingly caught by that honesty. His shoulders are tense and his hands are still in his pockets. They seem to be glued in there.

"Still wanted to know. They all do." The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. " What's that filthy Red doing in the nice part of town?"

"You're only a little filthy." There is some humor in that.

Thomas snorts. Who knew the stiff had a joke in him. He finds himself liking this conversation.

"Thanks, pal. Appreciated. I give my best."

Maven is a clam. Thomas intends to pry it open. If only just for one look.

He crosses his legs and doodles on some brochure someone must have slipped in his bag when he was staying at Farley's. It's a red sun. Thomas draws a face on the sun. It doesn't look very happy.

"See, I am not so bad, so tell me, what are you in for?"

Maven stares at him as if Thomas has just asked him to reveal the secret of immortality.

"Then don't tell me. I'm not that desperate. "Thomas shrugs it off. Though he is very desperate.

"I burned a house." Maven answers, in the end, voice very small.

Thomas' head whips around. He is trying to keep his cool. "Like, actually lit a matchstick and gasoline and shit? Dude, what the hell?"

There are the walls again. He probably should have phrased it different. You don't ask the guy you maybe have grown to find cute what's his fucking problem is. It sounds a little judgy.

"I mean, "Thomas tries to backpedal." It's not like never wanted to burn something down. But you actually did it. That's dangerous, isn't it?"

"It was an empty house." Maven says head turned away, shoulders arched up in a tense move.

"Can I see it? Why'd you do it?"

_Who has a problem now?_

"Are you making fun of me?" Maven asks.

"Yeah, sometimes. But not now. It's totally cool if you say no, though. I know it's messed up to ask."

Maven doesn't answer anymore. Gambled and lost, Thomas thinks.

He leaves the paper and the pen on the chair. He has no room for it in his bag.

He doesn't notice someone is considering taking it. In the end, the paper is left behind in an empty room full of chairs.

Wandering around the city, he finds himself in the Stilts. Luckily far away from his home. He remembers a corner where he used to play. Only new thing added is a graffiti and more dirt and rubbish. It will probably always look the same.

It's getting colder and he hasn't found a couch to crash on tonight. That happens. People have it scarce. They are friendly but he wouldn't rely on their hospitality if they regret it. He never presses the matter. It's not that big of a deal. Not right now. It'll probably get harder in the colder days of autumn and winter. Homeless people often are found frozen to death in winter nights.

Holding his bags close he sits down on some stairs that lead to a wooden porch. Graffiti is plastered over papers that fill the wall like a tapestry.

No one really cares. That's good.

* * *

"We never really introduced us to each other."

Thomas rolls his eyes. "Dude, the counselor says my name five times a session to curse my existence... And everyone knows who you are. Your family is the filthy rich top. You're like royalty."

"I know." Something is gnawing on the pretty boy, Thomas thinks. It takes a while until he realizes Maven has probably just wanted to make a step in his direction. And he just walked over it. It's something Thomas is good at. Walking over things. Walking away from them.

"But you're right, I guess. Thomas, your Highness."

There's the slightest of flushes on Maven's neck and ears as he takes Thomas nonchalantly outstretched hand.

His hand is slender fingers and soft skin. He hasn't scars or rough spots like Thomas. He's even slightly warmer than him.

"Maven will do."

* * *

He doesn't expect to find one of the Barrow girls at the store he just planned to..eh, shall we say, lent food from?  
It's the one called Mare. He never had much to do with her. She is always on the move, just like her brother. He knows for certain she's just as a petty thief as he is. Which is only proven in the way she leans over one of the long rows of shelves, ready to strike.  
He watches her. She's not exactly as filthy as he is. Figures, she at least has a permanent roof, however small and stuffed. He has approximately five to ten minutes before someone wants the stench removed. He could let her fall into a trap. But what kind of monster would do that?

"Girl, you better not doing what I think you do." he leans over her smaller frame, and her hand moves back, in a haste.

"Got a new camera over there." His eyes shift slightly and she follows. It's good hidden, one has to give them credit for that. Thomas wouldn't know if he hadn't lurked around the store on the day they installed it. That had cost him lunch. But now it seems worth the empty belly.

They move in silence, ushered out by the glares. She is like a wild cat, that one, brusque and not very trusting. He can't blame her. You grow up piss poor you gain a certain attitude.

"I can' go back empty-handed." She insists. There are words she doesn't say. He knows them nonetheless. Hand down clothes, empty cupboards, crumbs, and bits. Their families work their hands bloody and they have a home. Warm and good. He still remembers good enough how little they had when he was small.

Thomas blows a strand of hair out of his eyes. "Your brother would kill me if he knew. But whatever. I know just the spot."

* * *

Thomas is crude the last time he has to sit in that round. He makes awful jokes and sometimes he randomly announces the time. People seem to wait for the moment he leaves as much as he does.

He hasn't anticipated anyone to say goodbye to him.

He's, to say, mildly surprised (but in a good way) when at least one person does say anything.

Maven waits until no one is looking.

"I suspect you don't have a phone."

"If I had a phone I'd probably afford pants that fit." He emphasizes the point, hooking his thumbs in his belt. The jeans hang dangerous low under the too big shirt. "Not that it doesn't suit me. A little punk chic has never done any harm."

"A no would have done." Maven looks a little uncomfortable. Thomas is slightly sorry he can't stop making fun.

"Not in my world, Mave, it doesn't." It was on a whim, that nickname. But it suits him just fine.

"Your world." He says and they stare at each other knowing it's true.

Shuffling his feet, Thomas stares at the open door. It would be easy to just go and never return. He'd never have to see any of this folks again. He could leave town. Or go home.

"Can't promise anything, but maybe you'll see me around here next week. Polluting the parking lot or stuff."

That nod and that look are enough to tell he made the right decision. For now.

 


End file.
